


Impenetrable

by uncanny_cantaloupe



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions
Genre: Canon - Video Game, F/M, Fluff, HoennChampionShipping, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Pokemon Emerald - Freeform, Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire, Shmoop, emeraldverse, gameverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncanny_cantaloupe/pseuds/uncanny_cantaloupe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steel;</p>
<p>1. Any of various modified forms of iron, artifically produced, and having qualities of hardness, elasticity, and strength</p>
<p>2. To render oneself insensible, inflexible, unyielding, and/or determined</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Steven isn't quite as coldhearted as he thinks he is</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impenetrable

* * *

Steel;

1\. Any of various modified forms of iron, artificially produced, and having qualities of hardness, elasticity, and strength

2\. To render oneself insensible, inflexible, unyielding, and/or determined

...

**_(he likes to think he is a fortress sometimes)_ **

...

He crouches by a gaping holes, hands chalky with dust and dirt, elegant suit dirty beyond belief, granules of crumbling debris in his prematurely silver hair. Long-fingered hands stretch towards the sought-after prize, reaching deeper and deeper into the chasm.

He can see it, and it's glittering a deep, taunting azure and he's almost got it, just a few hair-breadths more. A strain in the graceful extension of his arm tells him that he should probably stop, it isn't worth it, but he's come all this way for one purpose, so he stretches just a bit further, a fraction of an inch.

He has just touched the rough, yet exquisite, surface, stroking it with a calloused fingertip, and is about to pull his reward towards the safety of his pocket when. . .

"Excuse me?"

He is not quite willing to give up his relentless perusal yet, so he keeps his back turned to the remarkably young-sounding voice behind his kneeling figure. No doubt the feminine timbre is asking after another.

The stone beneath his fingers shifts slightly, granite bedrock dissipating beneath his inquisitive touch, and a breath of composed elation escapes his chapped lips (it's a sapphire). He retracts his probing arm from the gap, fist slightly clenched, sharp spikes digging into his (slightly damp) palm.

"Mr Stone?"

Now his attention is caught. Calm and confident as ever, he turns slowly, brushing dusty black pants off with one hand, the other still kept firmly shut.

"Can I help you?"

Summer storm eyes meet with pools of astonishing sapphire, and he straightens slightly, admiring the fact that this girl can wear such vibrant emeralds and topazes in such a dank, dark cavern. His deep violet and ebony suit pales in comparison to her almost glowing jewel tones.

She is a Pokémon Trainer, he notes almost absentmindedly, seeing the three Poké Balls hanging from her vividly green belt. A small Torchic rubs at her bare legs, emitting balls of flame every now and then.

"Are you-" she checks the addressing on the manila envelope quickly, "-Steven Stone?"

"That would be me."

The girl is older than she sounds, he realizes. Sixteen, seventeen, maximum. He frowns, eyebrows crinkling downwards, creases forming on pale skin. Who is this  _she?_

"I have a package for you, from the Devon Corporation in Rustboro City."

He accepts the small package, of course (though really he wishes his father would stop trying to buy him back), and slips it into yet another seemingly invisible pocket.

Withdrawing a smooth, metallic disc (silvery grey, of course), he offers it to her, though not without hesitation. Large blocky print on the casing renders the item self-explanatory.

He finds it slightly odd that he is giving this entirely inexplicable girl one of his favourite technical machines, but brushes off the gesture as common courtesy. Payment for delivering goods, nothing more.

"Thank you, Miss. . . ?"

"May."

...

**_(there is a chip in his iron-hard defenses, but it is either overlooked or explained away)_ **

...

The next time Steven sees May, it is on Route 118, and the sun in the heavens is smiling down on the world as if everything is alright, which it most certainly is not. He has had enough of his father's deluded misconceptions of heirs and successors and companies, and is more than a little annoyed.

. . . May does not initially help the situation.

"Steven!"

He keeps walking, dismissing the shout as a call for someone else (again). A steady, brisk pace, with even, measured steps. Then  _she_ comes running along, heavy feet plodding clumsily along the packed dirt path, throwing up clouds of obscuring dust and haze everywhere.

"Oh, May. My apologies, I was lost in thought."

"Over what?"

He finds that over the next hour or so, she learns more about him than anyone else in the past few years. It still isn't much, true, but this ball of energy is an exception to his preconceived notion of being detached. He, in due course, finds out that:

-her full name is May Sapphire Haruka

-her favourite colour is (unsurprisingly) green

-she's sixteen and three quarters, but acts much younger

-her favourite type is Fire

-she actually prefers neither rain nor sun, opting instead to choose wind ("Because it blows your hair back and makes it feel like you're flying!")

-she is not on good terms with her Gym Leader father, Norman

-she likes taro milk tea with pearls

-her Torchic's nickname is Kentucky, Ken for short, Kentaro on formal occasions ("He thought it was amusing, but didn't like KFC.")

When they part, standing alongside each other in summer air scented with Bellossom pollen and fresh-cut grass, he realizes he enjoyed the time he spent with her today.

He wonders if something is wrong with him.

...

**_(the chip has become a small crack, spiderwebbing across the iron maze of walls that surrounds him)_ **

...

Steven stand on a rickety bridge strung together crudely with nothing more than solid logs of wood and thick hemp rope. The wind makes the gauntlet swing back and forth dangerously, and once, he comes precariously close to losing his footing.

Splashing into the lapis lazuli lake beneath him is not high on his list of priorities.

The reason he is standing on this swaying behemoth is shivering to his immediate left, clad in a ridiculously small amount of clothing for mid-November. He sighs, knowing that even if he asks her to, she will not put on any form of warmth, because windy is (after all) her favourite weather.

"This is a Devon Scope. It reveals hidden objects which are not visible to the naked eye."

Steven doesn't want to be holding one of his father's "ingenious" inventions. But he's helping May, after all. And in all honesty, she's the first person who's amounted to more than an acquaintance in a long time. She's magnetic, almost. Her energy is overpowering, and her pearl-white smile is contagious.

"So what's there?"

"I'll let you see for yourself; it's much more entertaining that way."

". . . What?"

"Are you ready for a battle?"

"What?!"

Steven walks away from that creaking, wobbling bridge with a small smile on his face and a warm, ember-like glowing feeling in his chest.

. . . May, on the other hand, does not realize (or perhaps she is just oblivious to) how many odd looks she is getting when she walks into Fortree Gym to battle Winona. She thinks that perhaps it is her windswept cinnamon hair, or her (slightly) foreign accent when she talks (which is quite often).

She gets the badge, of course. Steven has been giving her tips on battling.

She doesn't notice until she slips into her secret base (conveniently right outside Fortree City) that a certain someone's signature purple and black jacket is neatly and very conspicuously tucked around her bare shoulders.

...

**_(the crack is big enough to put your hand through, and things are starting to slip in. somehow, it never gets fixed)_ **

...

Steven and May bump into each other every now and again, because, after all, it  _is_ a one-way route to Ever Grande City and the Pokémon League, which is where May is determined to end up at.

It's not like they set up places to meet with each other or anything. Steven firmly refuses to believe that May could have so much of an effect on him.

And it's not like trading PokéNav numbers was his idea. No, definitely not. They can't be becoming friends, can they? Steven struggles with this idea for a long time. Surely his admiration and respect for her talent has been mistaken for companionship. That's all.

Because Steven Stone is made of rock. And rock is hard, and unfeeling, and unforgiving. Steel isn't his preferred Pokémon type because of a whim. High defenses and cold emotions were what he had decided on long ago.

. . . When May asks an offhanded question-

"I mean, you're my friend, right?"

-Steven says yes. And he isn't lying.

...

**_(the crack is growing with every passing day and he knows he can't hide forever and she's doing something to him and it won't be long before that wall shatters into a million shining pieces and he won't be able to fix it)_ **

...

They literally run into each other at the Mossdeep Space Center, where panic reigns and confusion and chaos are just added bonuses. Team Magma has decided to create havoc by leaving their mark and claim on the inhabitants' landmark.

"Steven, wait! They did what?"

"They haven't done anything yet, I don't think. Do you want to check the town, and I'll stay here?"

"But. . . !"

"You need your next Gym Badge, do you not?"

H's smiling when he says this, because he knows he can't let her see the panic whirling around in his stomach like a million Volbeat. He knows she's clashed with both Magma and Aqua before, and utterly creamed them, but this is getting out of hand.

He won't admit that he's slightly concerned for her.

When she re-emerges from Liza and Tate's Gym, her face is a mask of complete determination. He groans, knowing that with that look, with her eyes as steely as his own, there is nothing that will impede her charge.

"I'm coming with you."

"May-"

"I know it's dangerous! But it's the right thing to do, and besides. . ."

"Besides?"

"I can't let you go in there alone."

Steven feels his (supposedly) iron-walled heart jump slightly at this declaration, and is determined not to let any outwards signs of relief show. Honestly, he would feel much more assured with May at his side.

"Be careful, then."

"I will! I'm not a child!"

He inwardly grimaces at exactly how inaccurate her thoughts are, because her seventeen years are significantly less than his twenty-four. She doesn't seem to realize his discomfort.

. . . Magma is quashed with relative ease, to Steven's surprise, and he marvels a tthe fact that Kentucky, Ken for short, Kentaro on formal occasions is already a Blaziken. He compliments May on her achievements, and she quite nearly literally glows with pride as she squeezes the air out of the fiery bird in a bone-crushing hug.

"Thank you for your assistance, May."

"Assistance? I kicked their asses all by myself!"

"Perhaps next time I will refrain from joining in, then."

"You wouldn't dare."

. . . Later, he sits with May in his house, perched with ramrod straight posture on one of the only two sofas in the house. He fiddles with a stray thread (agate green, May's favourite colour) as she walks around his house, calmly taking in all of his rock-collecting eccentricity.

He feels slightly mortified having her in his sparse apartment. It smells like dust and the solutions he uses to polish his mineral collection, and there is a thin coating of grey over every available surface. She either doesn't notice or doesn't comment (probably the former).

May makes tea and sweetens hers with honey and milk, but only puts a squeeze of lemon in his (because she remembers him saying that once), and cheerfully sits next to him, pointing out rocks as they sip their (respectively) sweet and sour (ish) beverages.

"What's that?"

"A zircon."

"What about that one?"

"Obsidian, and the one next to it is pumice."

"Where'd ya get them?"

"In Lavaridge Town. You know Flannery's Gym?"

"Mhm. Hey, what about that?"

"You  _are_ an endless font of curiosity, aren't you?"

Steven's left side feels uncomfortably cool (from where May had been leaning on him) when she stands up to leave, explaining how she had arranged to meet that other boy (the rival with the extraordinarily ridiculous hat) in Shoal Cave that night.

Her amber hair bounces excitedly as she details how she is going to find all the Shoal Shells in Hoenn, and her idle chatter washes over him like a rush of cool water. He suspects that she will probably be needing an HM for Dive if she is planning to visit Sootopolis.

. . . It is ten minutes later when she remembers that yes, she did actually have to leave.

When Steven presses a flat, blue-tinged disc into her hand as she leaves, he is not expecting to be tackled by all of May's meager weight as she throws herself at him in gratitude.

He is painfully aware of her slender arms around the nape of his neck, and the smell of sunlight and cinnamon that radiates off of her. His initial reaction is to freeze, and every muscle in his body tenses in disbelief, because  _what exactly is she doing._

He can feel May's garnet lips curve into a smile against the fabric of his shirt when he hesitantly returns the embrace, arms carefully slipping around her tiny waist. It occurs to him that she really is very small, even if she doesn't act it (five foot two, he estimates).

. . . She bashfully pops her head back in right after she leaves, diligently hanging up his returned jacket by the door before slipping out again.

...

_**(the splintering is finally acknowledged, along with the surprising fact that the wall has not only been cracking, it has been melting)** _

...

Ice-cold dread was an emotion that only fairy tales were supposed to have, Steven reason as he urges his Skarmory to  _fly faster please this is important this is really important._

If he thought that he had known panic in the confusion of the (now infamous) Mossdeep Space Center incident, that theory was proven one hundred percent irrevocably incorrect. Panic was not Volbeat fluttering in your stomach. That was nervousness.

Sheer panic was the feeling of leaden legs and arms, numb fingers, a whirlpool of guilt, fear, and dread in your stomach, and terrible, constricting tightness in your chest. Not to mention the trembling that was threatening to take over his entire body at any minute.

. . . He knew what had happened, of course. In theory. Kyogre had awoken, and was currently en route to battle Groudon, courtesy of Team Aqua and Team Magma.

The only thing he didn't know was where May was, which was why he was nearly begging his trusted steel aviary to speed him to the center of the rapidly growing storm.  _Or perhaps deluge would be a better term,_ he thinks, feeling pinpricks of icy cold water soak through to his skin.

He finds her kneeling in the middle of the ocean on a bar of sodden sand, waist deep in freezing cold water. He can't tell if the liquid on her face is rain or tears. He's also not sure if he wants to know.

"May."

". . ."

_"May."_

". . . I failed."

"What?! No. No, you didn't."

"Then what's this? The world's gonna end, Steven. The world's gonna end, because  _I_ couldn't fix things."

"Oh, God,  _May. . ._ "

She is silent in mute shock as he wraps his mostly soaked coat around her (for the second time) and scoops her battered form into his arms, his Skarmory flying them both to Sootopolis.

...

**_(the wall has been reduced to so many shimmering slivers of metal with one blow)_ **

...

Steven is pacing the small room when she wakes, sapphire eyes blinking slowly as she takes in her surroundings. He can't help but worry when he sees her moon-pale face, confusion written in every crease and sun-kissed line.

"Where am I?"

"Sootopolis City. One of my acquaintances, Wallace, was kind enough to let us land here."

"Why?"

A crash of thunder rattles the window panes, glass shivering in its wooden frame. She takes one look at the translucent raindrops trickling down the pane, and her already blanched face drains of what little blood was left, leaving her a ghost. She remembers.

Steven holds May while she cries into his shirt.

Wallace has enough tact to stay upstairs.

One of the girls in the city is kind enough to lent May a pair of jeans and a sweater, though there is a shortage of rain jackets in the current predicament. Steven's (recently dried) jacket is around her shoulders once again, and any cries of discord are silenced immediately.

When he sneezes, and she tries to give back his jacket, he declines. He then proceeds to wonder when someone else's wellbeing last took precedence over his own, and draws a blank. This scares him slightly.

"Take your jacket back!"

"I assure you, May, I'll be perfectly fine."

"You'll get sick, Steven!"

"Says she who was kneeling in the ocean, in the rain, for what i know to have been at least forty-five minutes."

"Steven."

"You are the one going outside, not I, correct?"

". . ."

She reluctantly steps outside, and finally sees what the two men have been so worried about. In the oceanic plaza of Sootopolis City, it seems that the two titans have finally awoken, and are waging a war of epic proportions against each other. Steven casts concerned glances in her direction when he thinks she's not looking.

Huddled under the overhanging roof of a house (he's not sure whose, and it really doesn't matter at the moment), he surveys the damage done. Huge eruptions of steaming, roiling magma bubble and ooze from under the Earth Legendary, solidifying instantly on contact with the water.

Kyogre, in vengeful retaliation, sends bursts of freezing salt water at Groudon, all while maintaining the continual, eternal downpour from above. Beside him, May moans softly and sways on her feet. Steven leans against the brick wall for support. Wallace's usually talkative mouth is set in a line of grim determination.

He looks at his friend of years past, and the two men exchange a weary, battle-worn glance, the weight of thousands of words spinning through their somber eyes. He knows what has to happen next, and he can't interfere with the course of nature and the repetition of history.

"May. . . Please be careful. Don't do anything reckless."

As he grasps her wrist in the last seconds before she leaves, unsaid feeling whirl between the two Trainers. He is not reassured when she doesn't answer his parting words. He knows she can't promise anything of the sort.

The catastrophe is spinning further and further out of his control. And he knows that she's the only one who can stop it.

...

_**(the shards are melting into molten silver rivulets, slipping away like mercury and draining into the earth)** _

...

He is not quite sure what happens next.

The days pass in a blur of scorching drought and trickling precipitation and worry. He doesn't know what's happening, and if there is one thing he cannot abide it is ignorance.

Reports on the crackling television (when the power isn't out) follow a mysterious green dragon soaring over Hoenn, and the insanely unpredictable weather patterns. He hears nothing of May.

When Sky Pillar collapses under the strain of what looks like a catastrophic battle, he fears the worst, and retreats to his shelter of rocks and minerals and concentrated obliviousness, unable to face the possibilities.

Steven knows he is a coward, and he reasons with himself when he lies awake at night, plagued by images of May's cheerful, beaming face. Emotions are not befitting for steel-hard defenses, after all.

He can pretend he doesn't care, but niggling voices in the back of his (exceedingly intelligent) mind tell him otherwise.

Days later, when everything appears to be over, Wallace knocks on Steven's door. There is no answer.

...

**_(the walls are back up, even stronger than before, because if she could destroy them that easily then, his fortress must be absolutely impenetrable now)_ **

...

He doesn't want to think about what May's face will be like if (when) she finds the note on his dusty kitchen table.

He will not let himself consider the inevitability of her bolting into his house, flinging the door wide open as she announces (none too quietly) that  _she is the Champion oh my God Steven I just beat Wallace_ (because there is no doubt in his mind that she will be the Champion).

He refuses to imagine her large eyes widening, pupils dilating, as she feels the knife of betrayal and abandonment stab into her. Or the way her lips will press together so that they turn pale from loss of blood.

Or they way she will probably not understand the first time and read the missive again, and finally take a few stumbling steps backwards in disbelief. Because she never thought that Steven would leave her like her father had, and not even bother to say a proper goodbye.

He wishes that he hadn't used such a formal tone while writing, and that he had elongated his explanation of where he was going, and what he was doing, and why. In retrospect, of course.

He wishes he could face the burning shame of his inaction.

Part of him wants May to know him so well, she automatically knows where to look for him (although there are so many caves in Hoenn). The other part of him wants to run so far no one will find him, and dig up his rocks quietly in the corner and live like the isolated, eccentric hermit he is.

A short, hastily-written note (on a napkin, no less), ethereal white clouds, and a Pokémon left behind will never equate to a friend.

...

**_"To May;_ **

**_I've decided to do a little soul-searching and train on the road. I don't plan to return home for some time._ **

**_I have a favour to ask of you; I want you to take the Poké Ball on the desk. Inside it is a Beldum, my favourite Pokémon._ **

**_I'm counting on you._ **

**_May our paths cross again someday._ **

**_-Steven Stone"_ **

...

It is dark. And damp. And altogether spectacularly unpleasant to anyone who is not an avid lapidarist, which is how Steven comes to the conclusion that absolutely no one will ever find him in here.

Not his control freak of a father, the infamous President Stone. Not May. Not any of his remaining fans from years past, when he used to be the Champion. Not even Wallace. Absolutely no one.

There is something icily beautiful about Meteor Falls, he muses. It could be the way the occasional luminescent Pokémon's light reflects in dazzling slivers off of the (magnificently tall) stalagmites and stalactites.

It could be the almost silent  _plip, plip, plip_ of cavernous condensation dripping from the cathedral-esque ceiling, falling to land with a soft  _ploosh_ in pools of translucent amethyst.

Or it could be the isolation. The distinct lack of people drops a blanket of calm over the rush of running water and the distant Zubat calling to one another.

(Three things are infinite in Hoenn; the universe, human stupidity, and the amount of Zubat in a dark cave.)

Of course, most people wouldn't see the splendour that a polished geologist would. They would see pretty crystals, a pretty waterfall, and the exit to the cave, sunlight streaming in, promising no more wet feet, no more cobwebs, and no more aforementioned vampiric nuisances.

Certainly no one would ever venture into the deepest part of the cave, where he is sitting (unless they were looking for him, and he's given up hope of that months ago). So Steven is left alone with his thoughts, regrets, and the familiar business of mining rocks.

He extracts a small brush from his omnipresent tool belt, and with quick, precise movements, begins to dust off the stone he has just chiseled from the wall in front of him.

Blowing fragments of gravel away, his fingers involuntarily tighten on the sapphire he has just unearthed. Even when he tried to leave, and to forget her, she somehow infiltrates his mind.

Because her middle name is Sapphire, and her eyes were always this exact shade of deep azure blue (it's not something Steven could forget), whether it was sunny or rainy or windy (her favourite weather) or even raining ashes.

The stone is gripped so tightly in his hand, he can feel the sharp, unpolished edges digging into his calloused skin. He doesn't want to remember how she smelled of cinnamon, and her stupid green bandanna (green was her favourite colour), because he left all that behind and no one is going to find him now.

_Isn't this what you wanted?_ Steven admonishes himself.  _Didn't you want to forget everything and go back to being hard, cold, and clad in steel?_ And yet he can't forget the way his name fell off her lips;

"Steven?"

Lovely. Now he's hearing things. He's heard that prolonged isolation can cause insanity. Perhaps he should just leave this idea and go back to being a hermit in Mossdeep.

He doesn't register the hesitant footsteps or the swish of cinnamon-scented air until there is a one-hundred-and-ten pound weight on him, and there are tears leaking through his suit jacket to his shirt.

He turns slowly, unable to believe what is happening, because even though the proof is right in front of his eyes, it _must_ be a hallucination.

There is certainly not an angrily flaming Blaziken illuminating the small grotto he has found. And there is certainly not a Metang quietly levitating in the background, red eyes scanning arbitrarily over the scattered tools and minerals.

And May is definitely not clinging to his shirt and leaving a large wet patch on his ruby red scarf (because that's just how short she is).

"I thought you left me."

". . . I thought I did too."

A pause.

"Honestly, Steven, it's not  _that_ easy to get rid of me."

Without thinking, Steven's arms go around her waist as he steps closer to May (because they feel like they belong there), and she sighs in relief, leaning into him. He buries his face in her (still windswept) hair, and inhales deeply, taking in the scent of sunlight and laughter and May.

When she takes his hand with an iron firm grasp and starts to tug him out of the cave and into the dazzling light (he blinks multiple times), he doesn't resist. Because maybe, just this once, he can bend his steel walls for this girl.

...

**_(that day, he learns that the most beautiful sculptures are not made with tools of copper and steel, but with the gentle touches of air and water working at their leisure)_ **

...

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was written a while ago and posted on my ff account (same handle, but mostly dead now). Italian translation by the lovely Lacie is available at www . efpfanfic . net / viewstory . php?sid=3042070&i=1 . Special thanks to all y'all who stuck with me through my struggles posting my first story on ao3 (^.^)


End file.
